


Agony! That Can Cut Like a Knife

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: And Let's be Honest, that is a lot of angst, the only angst is sports angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: Tim Drake loves Gotham sports, but Gotham sports do not love Tim back
Comments: 39
Kudos: 159





	Agony! That Can Cut Like a Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance to citizens of Newark, my only encounters with New Jersey have been on the Turnpike and a view of the skyline across the river from a rooftop bar in Manhattan. Kinda want to apologize to Devils fans but maybe not enough to actually Do It. 
> 
> For anyone who cares I set a Gotham Sports Team Roster because same names are used for different sports in different universes and this is what I decided to go with:
> 
> Football: Knights  
> Hockey: Bats  
> Baseball: Colonials  
> Basketball: Buzzards

There was a low, pained groan from a couch in the main living room. Pained enough Bruce stopped to check it out. Jason was sitting in an armchair, eyeing the couch’s occupant with a particular kind of disbelieving, annoyed distaste. 

Bruce couldn’t see who it was because they were slumped down, laying on the cushions. He peeked over to find Tim, hands peeking out of the too-long sleeves of his black Gotham Bats jersey. They covered his face, but he was looking through his fingers to watch the TV intensely. 

Bruce followed Tim’s gaze to see the score and winced. “Still early in the season,” he said bracingly.

“Early?” Jason snorted. “It’s  _ December _ .”

Tim did not respond, still watching intensely. He dropped his hands at a particularly bad turn-over to shout, “Oh  _ come on _ !”

“Pace yourself,” Jason said, giving him that look again. “Or you won’t last to April. And we’ll need you in April.” 

“Jason,” Tim said, sounding calm and intense, even as the game breaks away for a commercial. “I have never been chill about this team a day in my life.”

Jason muttered something that sounded like “Clearly.”

Bruce had been busy the past couple of months and hadn’t had much time to keep up with Gotham’s sports teams. Not that there had been much to keep up with. The Knights had ended their season quietly, as they had for the past decade--no playoff games, no Super Bowl hopes. There had been a brawl between teammates during a late season practice, but the team had kept that mostly hush-hush. 

Hockey was only two months in but--well, he could see the score on the TV to see how that was going. The Buzzards, he’d read in the paper just that morning, weren’t doing much better. 

He hadn’t had much time to hang out with his kids, either. He settled down next to Tim on the couch to watch, just in time for the game to return to commercials and a fight to break out over the face-off circle. 

The second period closed with Gotham on a PowerPlay for another 1:30. Bruce got up to get snacks (“Popcorn,” Jason said, “With M&Ms!” Tim added.) 

“Bruce,” Tim said balefully, staring up at him with wide eyes as Gotham gave up a shorthanded goal and their goalie broke his stick against the crossbar. “Will you buy the me Bats, please?”

“I had a chat with Joseph Higgens last week, actually,” Bruce said casually.

Tim twisted around so suddenly he almost startled even Bruce. “ _ Higgens _ ?” Tim repeated in an incredulous hiss. “ _ Higgens? _ The  _ Devils,  _ Bruce, really, have you no loyalty? You’re a traitor, this is treason!” 

Jason turned his laugh into a cough,, and Bruce opened his mouth in defense of his Gotham pride, but Tim was working himself into a state. “You don’t just give up on your team because they keep losing! That’s your team, you can’t just choose any old  _ other  _ team in your state. You don’t get to  _ choose _ , Bruce! You can’t just turn your back on Gotham!

“And Newark!  _ Nobody  _ wants to live in Newark. I’d rather  _ die  _ than live in Newark, jot that down Jason, I want that in my Advance Directives.”

“Fair,” Jason said, nodding. He had died, and he had been to Newark. He understood.

Tim steamrolled on, not even acknowledging he’d been validated. “Wait, are you  _ sending  _ me to Newark, a city I hate, to  _ own  _ the  _ Devils _ , the team I  _ hate _ ? Why,” and Tim, to Bruce’s horror, sounded tearful, “do you hate me, B?” 

“Tim,” Bruce said, a little helplessly. “Tim, honey, I was joking.” 

He leaned over and lays a hand across Tim’s forehead. He felt a shade too warm, but not feverish enough to cause such a response. It was probably the jersey anyway.

“I’m not sick, Bruce,” Tim said mulishly. Then, suspiciously, “Did you call me honey? You don’t do that. You  _ are  _ sending me to Newark.” 

He flopped over on the couch and buried his head into his arms. This was probably a good thing as Gotham was scored against again. 

“Just put us out of our misery,” Tim mumbled. 

“What’s wrong with Drake?” Damian had come in, Dick not far behind, juggling the leftover popcorn Bruce had left on the counter, and he stood, arms folded, lip curling as he examined Tim. “He looks more pathetic than usual.”   


“Ah Timmy,” Dick said sympathetically, glancing at the screen. “A little early for the annual Gotham Sports-Induced emotional breakdown, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you and your second rate Bludhaven ECHL team, Dick,” Tim snarled, words, but not his ire, muffled by the couch pillow and his own arms. 

Dick blinked, unsure how to respond, and silence rang through the room, though Jason’s silence sounded suspiciously like silent laughter. 

Tim turned over. “I’m sorry,” he said, meeting Dick’s eyes. “That was ugly.”

Then, balefully, “Bruce is sending me to Newark to live amongst filth. Please say your goodbyes now as I am not much longer for this world.”

“I am  _ not  _ sending you to Newark, Tim, for God’s sake,” Bruce snapped. 

“I’ll miss you, buddy,” Dick said solemnly, patting Tim’s back as he sat down on the kid’s legs. He offered Tim some of the popcorn. 

“You didn’t put M&M’s in,” Tim accused, but ate a handful anyway. 

“If you care,” Bruce said, coming back on the other side of the couch and throwing himself into his recliner. A cat streaked away from where he’d been about to sit and Damian threw him a filthy look, “I tried to buy the Bats for your birthday last month, but the bastard Eliot cousin won’t sell.”

“Honestly, Bruce,” Jason said, leaning back, “How are you the richest man in Gotham and you don’t own a single team?”

“No one will sell to me,” Bruce said glumly. “I tried to get the Knights a few years back, when they were about to go bankrupt, but Stan Diner wouldn’t let me.”

“He’s a Cobblepot cousin,” Jason said, casually, turning back to his book.. “The Penguin funds him. It’s shady.”

Bruce frowned at him. “How did I not know that?”   


“Mm,” Jason said, not looking up. “I know something you don’t. I have connections you don’t. And you said the mob wouldn’t pay,” he lowers his voice in a stern imitation, “Mob boss isn’t a career path, Jason, you said, but look who’s got the insider knowledge.” 

Bruce closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

Midway through his calming breath, Damian said, haughtily, “This sport is respectable.”

He opened his eyes to see a Gotham player dropping his glove and raining, admittedly admirable, rights on an opposing player.

“Have you never seen a hockey game?” Dick asked, frowning.

“God, I wish that were me,” Tim said, when Damian shook his head. 

“Bruce,” Dick said, in that disappointed parent tone that always upset Bruce’s sense of order “You haven’t taken him to a game?” 

“We haven’t had much time,” Bruce replied. Then, defensively, “I’ve taken him to many museums!”

“That’s barely culture!” Dick said. 

“You take Dick to games?” Tim asked.

“He has box seats,” Jason put in. 

Bruce wasn’t sure how this had turned on him.

“ _ WE  _ has box seats,” Bruce snapped. “Not me.”

“Bruce,” Tim said, looking at him with wide eyes that made him look sad and young. “You had box seats to the Bats and you never told me, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises?”

“He used to take me all the time,” Jason, the son whom he loved, said, betraying him, while Dick shook his head sadly. 

“Me too,” Dick said. “He’s got seats at the Knights, Buzzards, Colonials, Tim, he never told you?”

“No,” Tim said miserably, peeking at Bruce from his forlorn place on the couch. “Never.”

“They go to a WE family in a lottery system!” Bruce insisted. 

“I am a WE family!” Tim said back. Then, abruptly, roared at the TV, “Fucking  _ refs,  _ I swear!”

“I guess it has been a while since we’ve all had a family outing to a sports endeavor,” Bruce admitted.

“Well don’t make it sound like textbook disease, B,” Dick said, rolling his eyes.

“The Bats play the Monarchs next week and I’m fully expecting to lose and also Tim Winston to fight at least three players,” Tim said. 

“At the same time,” Jason added. 

“I hope he gets his ass kicked,” Tim said.

“He won’t,” Jason said. “But he might get suspended again.”

“Boys,” Bruce said absently, thinking. 

“You’ll take us, won’t you, B?” Tim said, suddenly pleading. 

“I’ll call HR and make sure they haven’t gone for lottery yet,” Bruce agreed.

“A box seat,” Tim sighed wistfully, flopping back against the arm rest. “This whole time. To think I used to take Steph on dates to the nosebleeds.”

“Invite her,” Bruce said. “Barbara too,” he added at Dick. 

“And Jonathan?” Damian asked, stiffly. 

“If you  _ want  _ a Monarchs fan tagging along, sure,” Tim said, disgust evident.

“Tim,’ Bruce scolded. Then, “Of course Jonathan can come. I’ll call Clark tomorrow.”

He looked around at his family, suddenly feeling warm. A day at the box seats at a Gotham Bats game would be good, fun bonding for them all.

“Fuck you, ref!” Tim yelled suddenly at the TV.

Jason shouted after, “And the horse you rode in on!”

Well, Bruce could hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> We cannot actually guess my hockey team from this fic (except One Big Hint), but fans of Pennsylvania*** sports teams: Do Not Interact
> 
> ***Hershey Bears excluded


End file.
